NEW! Arbor Music Program

It's official!  Beginning August 4th I will be implementing the Arbor Music Program in my piano studio. In this post HERE I spoke of the nudge to teach students on an easy come-whenever-you-want, pay-as-you-go policy. The experience was incredibly eye-opening and changed my perspective as a teacher forever.

Near the end of this last Spring, I had a light-bulb moment. An idea blossomed as I sat down to my computer and wrote and planned out what I'd often wondered how to do: how to design a studio to give that same agency and freedom to my students they were now experiencing so they owned their music journey, but also offer more structure, accountability and intensity for advancing students who wanted and needed it. I also wanted to design better options for adult beginners.

The Arbor Music Program is the result of pondering that question (for years now) and finally sitting down to do the work to plan it out.  I guess it helped that I felt ready to increase the hours I mentor each week, too. :-)

CLICK HERE to read a quick summary of how it works. And, if you live in the Salt Lake Valley, (or are willing to drive there for lessons), I've solidified my current students needs and have openings for a few more. Follow the links on the Piano Mentoring page to contact me.

Seven Days of Christmas: Day 2

Day Two: Games and Giving

 The kids were so excited to open their games, they insisted we do it first thing in the morning instead of at night as I'd planned. Adam led us in a Christmas song and then shared the following before he headed to work. (Yes, I recorded it -glad I did, too!) 

"Today I took Ellie out to breakfast [for her birthday] and gave her a card with this scripture on it, D&C 88:11 'and the light which shineth which giveth you light is through Him who enlighteneth your eyes which is the same light that quickeneth your understandings.' I shared that with her because I have been very impressed with her example. She came first, so she sets the example and . . in her and in each one of you I see you take on the Light of Christ in a big way. You are very obedient, you love to mind, all of you are sensitive to the Spirit . . . and there is a certain light about you.  It is the most important thing, the most significant thing you can ever have in your life. Because if you don't have light, you have darkness . . . you have a dimness that you can see in a person. . . . I want you to notice that the tree is covered with light. There is symbolism in that. It glows with light. Happiness comes when we allow more light into our lives and the more you give, the more light you allow into your life."

Worked as a team to the end!

 This year the learning game was a wooden Sudoku board with a storage drawer. For the purely "fun" game, "Sliders" - a spin on "Sorry!" that's like a cross between bowling, darts, and Sorry. Nathan really enjoyed that he had to build the board and use his pliers to pull apart two playing pieces that came stuck together. My little engineer.  The "active" game was a badminton set that had a super big shuttlecock and large, padded rackets. Nathan and Ellie wanted to stay and create with their LEGOS and listen to their latest audiobook, so the little girls and I ventured out into the snow storm for errands badminton at our nearby recreation center.

 "Day of the Bells" at the library. Find and keep your own bell. Sweet!

After 20 minutes, Lizzy was tuckered out (and Norah was ever-ready to pose for a pic). I realized the girls hadn't eaten lunch yet - we'd been so busy with the games all morning . . . Lizzy had to crawl to the bench where we ate the snacks she was so famished :-). No drama in these girls!

 

 "Bounce Catch" is their favorite game to play together at the gym. We simply count how many times in a row the girls and I can bounce the ball and catch it without dropping it or letting it bounce more than once.  We got to 50 in a row this time, so I made things fancy: Single or double "Left-Right Bounce-Catch" and "Twirl-Catch." 

We'd spent long enough at the gym I felt ready to try getting home again (our first try we couldn't get up any of the hills to our neighborhood and almost got stuck). Slowly inching through our neighborhood, I was warmed by the sight of seeing many people on every street out shoveling their driveways. You mean there are actually people living in those homes? We have neighbors?!  Such a sight as real, living, breathing people out in their yards, talking to their neighbors, helping each other and playing - it had a strange and penetrating beauty about it. Gave me a craving to be out among them.

"Ondine" Likened

Back in July, I shared a dilemma I had between the new way I was mentoring in piano and the old reasons that were the only way I really knew for using my own piano skills.  I felt in need of a destination to journey toward. I shared here how witnessing a cellist's performance had reminded me of a purpose for music that became the seed of what led to this post and others that will follow (as I've decided to do this again with new pieces). 

I wrote:

"An idea keeps nudging me.  A destination I could give myself. . . Choose a piece. Set a date. Post it here. . . Ravel's Ondine. . . I'll record it without demanding perfection, but communication. I'll post it pretending that those who listen, do so not to put me down or prop me up on a pedestal, but to 'meet' and 'communicate' together."

And so, I chose September 25th to post the recording.  It's been quite the journey from July to now.  I will hold my tongue and not go into analyzing, apologizing or giving excuses as I'm tempted to do. That was the point of this experiment after all!

Instead, a quick word about the piece for those unfamiliar with it, or those unfamiliar with translating music into their . . . "native tongue."

Ondine is a piece I've wanted to play for years. I find that I am drawn to pieces that depict water, and pieces that have a relational element.  This has both and I find it very fulfilling to play and easy to find messages of truth in. It is by Maurice Ravel, written in 1908 and based on a poem by Aloysius Bertrand. You can google and find any number of explanations about this piece or the poem it's based on (and I suggest you do, like this one I found on someone's blog).

Here, though, I'm going to stick to the theme of this blog and share a smidgen of how I've likened this music to my own life (you can find the link to the recording at the end of the post). The way I play the piece might not be acceptable to other pianists, they might think I am not true to the way Ravel wanted it played.  That is partly intentional.  There are plenty of recordings that are "true to Ravel."  I believe the notes and rhythms composers organize have potential to say things to individuals that the composer never planned.  This happens when we share things in the written word as well, right?  For instance, did those that recorded the events in the scriptures know how many thousands or millions of different ways future readers would apply them to their specific lives? No. I believe there is a lot of untapped potential for communication in music. Yes, learn the "right way" to play the piece, but then experiment and ponder how the notes speak to you and if that means a different tempo, different dynamics or the stretching of a phrase that "shouldn't be" stretched - why not? The composers are usually long gone. If it doesn't mean anything to you, it won't mean much to others.  Maybe this is a reason behind classical music interest waning and popular music thriving? Well . . . I'm going off topic now. Back to "Ondine."

Somehow, what goes on in my mind (when I'm not hyper aware trying to record the piece and can lose myself more fully in that stream of sounds - the irony, right?) loosely combines the original water sprite idea of the poem with . . . well . . . caterpillars and the Garden of Eden.  Pretty strange, right?  I had three pages written up about triads and cool patterns I'd found and their symbolism, and a bedtime story version of what I'm thinking when I play, but I decided that would be the fire-hose approach. Instead,  I've whittled it down to three little "translation clues" you might find helpful (with a bit of what to listen for and minute cues) and then I'll set you free to try and decipher if those clues fit what you visualize in your mind as you listen and what it all might mean to you.  Remember - this is an exercise in communication through music! Not a "ta-da!" performance. Forget the person playing (and all their mistakes) and enjoy likening it to your life.

"Translation Clues"

#1. The motif that begins when the left hand first plays I think of as the seeking, searching voice.  You'll notice the same descending two notes often throughout the piece. In my mind, each time, it is a new question, a new search for truth. If the voice was speaking with words, what would it say to you?

#2. The constant motion throughout the piece (beginning with the right hand) is that watery, immortal element. Ondine in the poem was an immortal water sprite (fairy) and tried to persuade the mortal man to marry her. I picture the immortal element more as energies and oppositions we might face in life that can lead (if we navigate with God's help and grace) to an ever increasing knowledge of good and evil; a continuing process of being recreated, or reborn - just as the fruit in the Garden of Eden began such a journey for Adam and Eve.

#3. Instar =  The name for a stage of a larva's life. Each time it molts, it beings a new instar. A larva will generally pass through five instars before it makes a chrysalis or cocoon and becomes a moth or butterfly. I hear the main melody voice (in clue #1) going through a journey in this piece that includes:

•  Moments of curiosity, wonder, and discovery (minutes 00:00 - 02:05)

•  Moments of vulnerability and confusion (2:05-2:47)

• Times of deep seeking (notice the conversation between the low and high voices 2:47-3:32)

• Anxiety, fear, anguish (3:33 -4:38)

• Seeking relief, a prayer offered three times (4:39 - 5:00)

• A moment of cleansing, nourishing, and reassurance (5:00-5:43)

• A point where it is possible to look back. The past begins to take on the look of Isaiah 61:3 (5:44-6:09)

• The choice to view the journey through the lens of faith now brings a moment of gratitude and inspiration from a still, small voice (6:09 - 6:38)

• Perhaps the darker energy that has been so constant in the journey now sees all its efforts only played into the hand of goodness and Light. It reveals its true nature in a sudden tantrum (reminds me of Moses 1:21-22), is washed away, and finally dissipates and fades (6:39 - 7:20).

Click here for the youtube link: Ondine

Many thanks to Steve Phillips (www.fullfidelitystudio.com) and Adam (videography, AKA Mr. Golden) for their help in this little project of mine.

Words that Move Me - Blemishes

Exercise in humility - adult acne. 

Something Forgotten, Remembered

Today I put on my "piano mentor" hat and soaked in the light of beaming pianists who came to me for a nudge here, a reassurance there, a clarification, a truth about the instrument or their pieces that makes the fingers and tones work in harmony.

They come as often as they want, pay as they go, schedule only one lesson at a time - I'm a piano salon. They choose their goals, make commitments, follow-through, love it or leave it.

It's a way I discovered after following a nudge: close the studio.

We'd just lost half our income in real estate investments that failed. We'd sold our "dream home" and began renting the home I grew up in. Now I was going to take away a 1/3 of what was left? It was a leap of faith, but the assurance was so strong it didn't take much courage. Adam felt just as strongly to support the change.

As I pondered the feeling, a song my kids loved from a Narnia movie echoed in my head "I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye." I began writing a letter to my studio explaining the change and the "piano salon" details I described earlier flowed onto the page. I was closing my life to a traditional style of teaching and opening a new door. It wouldn't be a job, it would be a service I received payment for, but I had to let go of relying on any income from it. Many said goodbye, some stayed and adjusted - isn't Kate always changing things anyway?  Some that said goodbye came back later. New students call every month lately.  "This is exactly what I've been searching for." I hear so often.

Miraculously, Adam was nudged in his own direction with Day Violins so that we always had enough to pay the bills. Pay them on time even. We never declared bankruptcy. Four years later we don't need the money I make mentoring piano students. It's money for gifts and holidays.

Little by little I have expanded with each nudge.  Now I teach one and a half days a week.  I see some students once a week, others every two, some once a month or a few times a year.  Ages 9 - 70. They all follow their own nudges and I facilitate, I love them, we love each other. It's not a job, it's a service. The music is a tool, not a wall-hanging, or a check-list.  I'm not a piano god passing out judgement. I'm a mentor, a guide. They have their agency and I love them into making choices that have purpose and point in the direction they want to travel. No recitals. They put on home concerts for family and a few friends if they want.

I can honestly say that every one of my students has a love for learning the piano and every single one leaves each lesson feeling uplifted and encouraged and able to progress. They love the journey and have hope in their destination - each unique.

So the most surprising thing is that I don't love my own music journey; don't feel I know my destination. For months now, practicing my own skills at the piano brings more depression than joy. I can't find what I'm practicing for. Performing most often leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth and a pulling inside myself for the rest of the day.  Not because I "mess up."  It's applause and compliments that bring the dark cloud. How ungrateful I am. In changing my studio, it has changed me.  I no longer practice for the same reasons.  I no longer play for the same reasons, but audiences usually listen for the "old" reasons.

I love mentoring the beautiful souls that come to me, but as time goes on, I feel more and more like a hypocrite.  It's about the journey, not the destination they say. Yet how to journey without a destination? After all my searching and all the answers I've found, I only have more questions - what is music for, for me? Shall I just keep instructing others to use a language and value a language that I speak less and less - except to teach others to speak it? That's the problem: viewing music as a language.  If my purpose were to entertain or impress I would be happy - that purpose is easy to fulfill in the current culture.

But I want to communicate. And too often the response is comparable to listening to someone speak in a language foreign to you - you appreciate the beauty or the speed or the lilt, the unique blending of tones.  And you might understand a few words here or there, but there is no real comprehension.  No communication enough to move or inspire or teach. Just awe or envy. Adulation or judgment.

My thoughts spiral down dark alleys: We compete with each other or we perform to impress or we entertain by numbing the mind or blurring it with fast fingers. We don't exchange thought. We are not left better for it. We speak a language that fewer and fewer can express original thought in.  We just memorize and say what another long ago has said and try to say it better then someone else.  We have no fluency to speak our own thoughts - including me. Money or pride are the main motivations we learn the language.

Some musical moments pull me out of my hole.  Glimmers of light. Like, a few weeks ago I was hired to accompany a cello studio recital.  These kinds of moments I still find joy in - when I'm playing with others or helping others to play. In that way, it is the same as mentoring my piano friends. They are moments that are too few in my life.  The smiles and the gratitude and compliments from those experiences are beautiful to my ears - I've used the language of music to enrich a life, to create beauty that the one complimenting drank in with me.  We communicated.  Like a part of an interesting Joni Mitchell interview my mom had me watch the other day. Around minute fifty-four I almost cried aloud, "Yes! She's described it!":

"If you listen to that music and you see me, you're not getting anything out of that music.  If you listen to the music and you see yourself, it will probably make you cry and you'll learn something about yourself and now you're getting something out of it. . . those are the people, you know - my communication is complete. . . but its such an intimate art form and I'm doing so much of it that all the attention is going to me. Which is insane from my point of view. It's like, you're not going to get anything out of it if you look at me. . . When somebody pays me the few compliments that I've really enjoyed . . . they humble me. They're heartwarming because a real connection has been made. We have met.  I've put out a signal and this person has picked it up, right?  And we're meeting like this [on the same plane], it's not like they've got me on a pedestal or they're looking down on me because I'm not their favorite or whatever. We meet.  And so, that's a communication." 

That's why the ensemble playing appeals to me.  We meet - we communicate together.  Too often, piano is a lonely instrument. I start learning guitar, violin - maybe that will help? More opportunities to communicate together? Yet, that same night of the cello recital I was reminded there can be real communication in solo work, too.  The teacher took a moment before the final group number to share a selection - a prelude from a Bach cello suite. As I listened, I found myself wiping away a stream of tears.  It has been a long time since I've cried at a concert.

Bach on the cello! What a combination!  I've decided it is such a human instrument - a sound like the voice of a soul. And in that moment at the recital, such a sound was combined with Bach's "words." The result is a feeling of worship. Of purity. And something else...

The tones wrap around the fibers of the player, then spiral outward and intertwine with mine.  We are now listening with our souls, not our minds.  We are wrapped together in a moment of solemn beauty.  There is something familiar about the emotions that are touched and coaxed to the surface. Truth. A premortal knowing. I can't translate the message into words. That would kill it.

This I know. The cello and the music are dead things with no life in them of their own.  They are inanimate objects that must be brought to life. Too often, these objects are paraded like marionette dolls on a stage with blank expressions. But in that moment that night - the tones were brought to life using a cello. The performer melted into the background, eyes closed, a mirror turned outward. We saw our souls reflected - the eternal part of us. We were reminded of that eternal identity - the temporal and the fallen is forgotten for a moment.

I realize, I have had too many experiences as the person "on the stage," or as an audience to "puppet performances." This moment reminds me what it can be like.  A deeper "what is it for?" answer is discovered that begins to point me in a direction I feel I can journey to.

As I say goodbyes at the cello recital, a little boy comes to me with a shy smile and holds out a rose. "Here. This is for you." I don't even know him - one of many in a group piece I accompanied I guess.  From a child, any compliment is beautiful and pure. I'm soft from the Bach experience.  The gesture humbles me.

A rose. Symbol of beauty. Color of the love of God. It reflects that. Can I? Can I untangle the musical knots that lie within me? Can I share with others and not analyze the moment to death for hours afterward?

An idea keeps nudging me.  A destination I could give myself. A way to share and not have to know the audience response. Choose a piece. Set a date. Post it here. Comments are turned off. I can just play "with the window open."  Maybe that is the place to start?

Okay. September 25th.  Ravel's Ondine. It's a piece that tells a story of a water sprite. It will feel more like communicating that way. The sounds paint a picture of things not in the real world. I like that. I learned half of it before I hit bottom walking down my dark alleys of thought.  Back when I practiced for the purpose of inspiring my children to play and it was enough.

I'll record it without demanding perfection, but communication. I'll post it pretending that those who listen, do so not to put me down or prop me up on a pedestal, but to "meet" and "communicate" together.  Maybe it won't work.  But maybe, just maybe it can be the therapy I need - the baby steps - to one day share with greater power like the cellist.  Maybe one day I can lose myself and stop judging.  Maybe I can learn somehow to turn the mirror outward and reflect and remind myself and those who "meet" with me of things eternal. 

I'll commit.  Like my students.  September 25th. Hold me to it.

(Update: "Ondine" listening guide and recording)

Dick and Jane on the Radio

I know many people who have a desire to learn a language that I've become fluent in.  It's not their native tongue.  In fact, it's a language that is so foreign to some people that they don't even realize it's a language.  And yet it's so familiar that they are exposed to it on a daily basis.

Mommy, Come Play - Four Ideas

I finally found the perfect picture to add to part two of my post "Mommy, Come Play!" But I also found all these other pictures of my kids at play with music and figured I might as well sprinkle them in this post - the final installment on this discussion - just four specific principles Norah and Lizzy have taught me in this new approach I'm trying with music.  And no, I don't believe these approaches will apply to all ages - it's how you work with "saplings" not taller, older "trees" but more of this wouldn't hurt the trees, either:

1. Lots of sun and water and hardly any pruning. I may say, "Time for music, anyone want to play with mommy?" but usually I just go to the piano and start playing or get out my guitar and wait for the that gravitational pull to bring the ducklings to me. Once they've asked for my help I keep making sure they're the one leading the practice. I ask questions, I don't give commands. For instance:"Here are all the books we could play out of, what would you like to do first?" OR, "Which song would you like to play?" OR, "Would you like my help scrubbing that spot?" If they say, "No" then we move on - no frowny face, no huffing, no disappointed look. If they say "Yes" then I start the scrubbing, but very gently (think baby bath). If they start playing something differently I might say, "That's different, isn't it?" I've had Norah go on for 5 minutes this way, making up a story about why her left hand doesn't want to play the notes he's suppose to so the right hand did it for "him" - complete with voices and all. I would have missed this awesome "recital" had I insisted she play it "correctly."

2. Take more time smelling the flowers than you do working in the garden. Following the lead of your child might mean you spend 15 minutes just watching them play at the piano. Maybe for a week they just want you to sit and watch them make up songs on the piano. You may doubt that anything "productive" is being accomplished. In those moments, check your purposes. Check your math.










3. Keep the plants thirsting for more. I always stop before I know they want to - each book or "pattern game" or "finger secret" we're working on, as well as the "play" session in general.






4. Don't miss the roses. So last night I really went to the piano because I wanted to play. But I've trained my girls too well. 3 minutes and Norah is there. She plays around me on the piano for a while. Then starts using a pencil to pretend she's teaching me - using all sorts of interesting made-up words to describe the exciting things she's teaching me to do, drawing little doodles in my music. When after 20 minutes I'm still not paying much attention she grabs my left hand off the keys and says, "No, like this, take a ride and watch closely." I'm still playing with my right hand, trying to sneak in my practice time while she shows me what to play with my left hand. I go back to my song and she's offended. "No, mommy, play the song I showed you!" Finally I realize what I'd be doing if I shewed her away or ignored her any longer and I "take a ride" on her hand again. I do the little simple rhythm she shows me, then add something similar in the right hand and ask, "Like this?" "Yes! That's it, perfect! Now higher. Now faster. Yes! I love it mommy!" Then she has me take a ride and plays a totally different, softer motif. It sounds like Brahms's lullaby, so I start making up a lullaby like that. Norah says, "ah....that sounds so pretty. Like a baby song. I'll dance to it while you play." When we went up the stairs to bed that night, Norah was beaming at all she had taught me. "That was so fun, mommy! I taught YOU, hahaha!" Yes. She did.

Mommy, Come Play - Part 2

In  part 1 of this post, I shared my response to the comment "You homeschool?  I could never do that!" I also stated that I had begun to see a connection between that comment and two others that I hear frequently: "What age should I start my child in music lessons? and "I wish I never stopped playing the piano." 
I've wrestled for months with this post.  Rather than try to describe what I'm feeling, I've decided first to "show" you what I'm feeling by sharing what are becoming common experiences with my children. 

(Part 3 discusses specific ideas to implement in music practice with your children)
 

It all started many years ago when I actually applied with my first two children, the answers I used to give parents as a music "professional."  Not just when to "start" music, but how to practice, when to practice, how often to practice etc. The results . . . well, they prompted me to begin asking other questions. The answers I found have changed my perspective, my purposes, and my approach.

And it has changed the results.

Mommy, Come Play! - Part 1

The most frequent thing people say to me when having a conversation  for the first time is, "You homeschool?  Wow, I could never do that!"  The most frequent question or comment I hear when people discover I'm a musician is, "What age should I start my child in music lessons? or "I wish I never stopped playing the piano."  Recently, I've come to see a relationship between all these.

My answers, first.

Regarding the first comment, I'm a second-generation homeschool mom.  What that means is, in the mass of people venturing out into the unknown to try alternative education methods with their children, I'm one who can't say, "Oh, I could never do that!"  That's because I lived through being "homeschooled." I guess you could say I have insider information: teaching your children at home can look exactly like being a mother at home  . . . no special skills required.   I have no excuses.

This is the secret that makes me feel somehow dishonest and quite uncomfortable when taking that. . . compliment? . . . from other women.  You see, I know that it makes about as much sense to tell me, "Oh, I could never do that!" in regards to teaching children at home as it does to use that comment in regards to being a mother in general.

What I mean is:

Mothers, did you know all you needed to know to birth, nurse, feed, potty-train, discipline etc. a child when you got pregnant?  Fathers, did you have all the money, patience, house space, cars, clothes, bikes, insurance, and stored up hours of sleep that you needed before having children? No.  But somehow billions of people continue to thrive and grow and contribute on this planet and they all come from mothers and fathers who began by being totally unprepared and often feel incompetent in their roles as parents.  How does this happen? They make it up as they go. They use resources they find along the way. They get on-the-job training. They fail and learn, fail and learn. Those that don't give up and stay committed, find 18-30 years later that they have succeeded in creating another adult who is usually quite awesome. None of us are ever perfect, or "done" but that's a discussion for another day.

Now, I'm not sitting down to write a post to convince all families to homeschool.  I'm sitting down to write my opinion that the easiest part of being a mother is teaching your children; that you already do teach your children (whether you realize it or not).  So if your intuition or conscience or your "inner guide" has something to say about how your children gain an education and it happens to have something to do with trying options that would entail keeping your child at home for some or all of the day in their early years - maybe you shouldn't feel so crazy to listen.  In fact, I'd have to be one to argue. . .  you could do that.

I've found that, yes, our children become more like us when they continue to be around us most (so if you're "weird" they might be "weird" too).  They become like mirrors, reflecting our weaknesses, strengths and quirks. When looking in that mirror, we see things we feel need to be changed. So - keeping your children mostly at home might become an impetus for you to change some things about yourself. Then they change.

Keeping them out of public school might mean you will have to learn patience; learn how to put relationships above house duties; learn how to teach your children to help you care for the home; learn how to get along with each other; teach them (and yourself) how to spend time wisely etc.  But, wait - isn't that what everyone is learning to do as a family?  Aren't those all skills (and countless others) every family must learn to function properly? That every society must learn to function well?


But maybe you believe you "could never do that" NOT because you're afraid you'd ruin your children, but because you're afraid they'd ruin you. No time for self. Never a clean house. Never a quiet moment. Do you know what I think? Family life is designed to teach us to lose our self. Something inside us never feels quite right with being self-centered.

 Oh yes, "but if you don't fill up your tank first, you'll have nothing to give."  I have a problem with that mentality in two respects.  First, you can fill up someone else's "tank" much faster than you can your own.  Second, doing so invites others to want to fill up your "tank" (which remember they can do faster than you can). This cycle of giving forms healthy relationships and builds better, happier people at the same time. 

I have come to believe that children need you more when you're around them less. I've noticed when I leave for a few days, or when I'm gone from my children for a long period during the day and then come home - those are the times they demand more of me and being a mommy is more intense.   

In other words, children have their tanks, too. I can either spend sixteen hours or six working to fill those tanks. Once they are full, children want to go explore and learn and create (practice filling other people's tanks) on their own.  If that's true, which time period of "filling tanks" would feel more intense? Six, right? Now, take the six-hour intenser version and imagine that same intensity for sixteen hours and you get the "ooh" and "aww" and "I could never do that" comments from people.  But that version rarely exists in my experience.

For example, my first child surprised us by showing up on the scene when she was supposed to wait to come until I was done with my degree (according to our neat little plan).  My devoted mother watched her each day while I was at school and she had all kinds of loving attention, but what she wanted most was her mommy.  My child's solution? She nursed every two hours I was with her for the first two years of her life.  Even at night.  She made up for lost time and at night, I learned how to nurse lying down (and mostly in my sleep).  Whether I could have (or tried) to change that was between me and that "inner guide" of mine, right?  It said not to wean her.  I fought it, but Elise fought harder and I'm glad I eventually listened. From my perspective now, I see how really small that sacrifice was.  It even became a sweet and simple thing. And I can see how such a small and simple thing was huge in its effects on her life.


So I have my children at home all day. Yet, when I want to, I find time to write, do bills, read, email, visit a friend or waste my time in various ways like other moms.  I have hobbies. Take classes. Develop my talents. Believe it or not,  I actually exercise and dress, eat, clean etc. I get things done.  Quite a lot, actually. Yet my kids are home all day long, they get a lot of attention from me, and they are thriving and learning like normal children (whatever that means). For some reason (well, for the reason in bold above), people think that's a miracle.



Lastly, I find it ironic that parents go through the most physically (and sometimes emotionally and spiritually) demanding period of parenthood (and especially motherhood) when their child needs them 24/7 and then as that child (and the parent) begin to blossom, and begins to learn how to care more for their self, our culture teaches us to fear being around them 24/7.  You've made it through the toughest, most demanding beginning of their life and as the curve tends toward increased independence - THEN you waffle?  They're mostly done with the tantrum stage and now you don't think you're up to being around them all day? (BTW, I've found the best remedy for a tantrum is a hug - fill that tank.)


So call me crazy, but I think it's harder to use public school to teach your children in the younger years.  I think if a mother's intuition prompts her that public school is the route for her child when she's still a new mommy trying to learn how to raise a family (which is the case for most mother's I guess), then she has the harder job. Women who make that scenario work are the ones I think perform miracles. I'm the lazy mom. All the things that a family needs to learn if they're going to be happy and enjoy being a family are SO MUCH HARDER TO LEARN when you barely have time to be together as a family.

 This just makes sense, right?  How do you get better at the piano? You have to sit at the piano.  How do you get better, faster?  You sit at the piano longer.  Granted, how you practice, what motivates you, and whether you enjoy piano or not will determine how effective that practice is, but sitting at the piano less isn't going to help those variables.  More time experimenting, finding things that don't work, trying a new approach, experiencing some success (that will motivate you to want to play more) all requires MORE time at the bench. Not less.

Regarding the second comment ("How early should I start my child in music lessons"). . . well. . . I guess you'll just have to wait for part two.  I may still have 2 1/2 hours before my children know mommy's morning time is over and start wanting my help, but who likes (or ever finishes) long blog posts? My mom. 

Of Bikes and . . . Music, of course!

I went on an outdoor bike ride this morning all by myself.  How have I let a decade pass since doing more than just biking to the park with kids?!  The joints and cartilage in my body don't seem to have much staying power so the kinds of exercise I have been reduced to doing is low impact, strengthening or stretching types of activities - all of which are convenient at my local recreation center, but I think I've sheltered myself for too long.

After spending an hour fixing inner tubes,
taking off old child seats, failing to fix training wheels, adjusting chains and helmet straps yesterday so that my children and I could go on a little bike ride - only to turn back after ten minutes - I felt like a need had been bottled and a large cork shoved into it.  This same thing happened the day before when we took the kids up the mountain with my aunt, cousin and parents, only to turn back before getting very far.  I felt fit to burst.  Every effort to exert myself in the beautiful summer weather, among the trees and grass and flowers had been thwarted!  It was a real feeling of pressure building inside me from this unsatisfied desire that was only growing stronger.  So... I took off!

Professionals Only

Today is a Barber-Violin-Concerto-Andante-movement kind of day.  I've soaked my ears in this sound as I have brushed a few coats of polyurethane on my hubby's new "sound upgrade" workbench he'll use for some booths at Suzuki Institutes this month.  The two activities were good therapy. I let Gil Shaham and the London Symphony Orchestra speak to me like a friend full of empathy while I put on an outer protective coating.

I took a class last Fall that delved into my core books and beliefs.  I then took a similar class the next two semesters and as part of them, I wrote and wrote and wrote. Thus my neglect of this blog.  I now find myself on a summer break, mourning the fact that the classes are over and feeling just plain grumpy. 

So it feels like the perfect time to vent about something I've been stewing over for a while.  There.  Now that you're the only one reading further, Marmee, I can just say what I want to and not worry about all the editing and revising I'd go through for more judgmental "ears."

What's it all for? (Part 1)

What would you ask yourself after experiencing one of these situations?






Situation #1:
You're sitting in a high school room for a Solo and Ensemble competition. The judge is going on her fifth hour in her duties, and yet another parent comes up to inquire:  "When will my child have their turn? The time table is confusing."  The tired judge, instead of answering, raises her voice and shouts to all thirty people in the room, "I want everyone to get this straight, I am in charge and your child will play when I say it's their turn, okay!?"

The Music Pyramid

I was at the Thomas Jefferson Education Forum and the keynote speaker was James Ferrell, who is the CEO of Arbinger. In his lecture, he described the pyramid shown below.

While listening to Ferrell, I did something a mentor of mine had suggested once. I restated in my notes and in my mind what I was hearing as if I were going to teach it to someone else. But my mind wandered a bit and I wrote down how I'd teach it if I were to apply it directly to music.

It was quite eye opening. First, though, I probably need to explain quickly a few things about this pyramid for those that aren't familiar with it. You can also download a free article at the above Arbinger link called "The Parenting Pyramid" that is short and will illustrate the idea better than I will in a few sentences. As you will see, this pyramid applies to more than just parenting.

What James Ferrell illustrated in his speech was that level two of the pyramid and everything above it are behaviors and behaviors can be done in one of two ways of being:

Seeing others as people.
OR 
Seeing others as objects.

That's what the lowest level refers to - where is your heart - are you putting up walls and not seeing others and/or yourself clearly (are you in "the box") or are you open to others, letting them and their humanity touch you and your humanity touch them - do you have a heart at peace with others.

The three lessons as Ferrel taught that day are in slightly different words below:

Our Desire to Communicate

I once read a book that talked about a man's experience in the afterlife while he was in a coma. Whether or not you believe such things are possible, I think something he described has a lot to do with music and art. He talked about what happens when people embrace there. He described it as being one of his favorite parts of his experience.

People did not say "Hi" or shake hands, they embraced and it was like you gave "a feeling and synopsis of your life to one another. Suddenly you [knew] and [understood] a person in ways far beyond any verbal communication. It [created] an instant bond . . . [that built] a foundation for loving one another more perfectly." (from The Message by Lance Richardson)

I think that music and other forms of art can give us a similar experience here - especially music. Leo Tolstoy says in What is Art that true art is "a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress towards well-being of individuals." I'd recommend reading all that is found at the previous link (or the whole book - which is what I'm working on currently).

There is a reason that music has been called the "universal language." It has the ability to communicate in a way that language cannot. But why doesn't it do that every time? Why do I come away disappointed from some concerts that are performed perfectly and yet come away "fed" and inspired by other musicians that may have been technically accurate or not? Why can some performances communicate to me and join an audience together and others not? I think these are very important questions.